


Good Enough

by MintSauce



Series: The Halfway House [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Nice smut, Smut, but like, immediately follows the halfway house, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's still a lot of doubt left over from Mickey leaving. Ian's just always assumed the problem is that he isn't good enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Enough

**Author's Note:**

> This work immediately follows the end of the halfway house!  
> It's amazing what you can get done on an eight hour ferry ride with no internet!

It isn’t plain sailing at first.

            Living with Mickey isn’t the same as sharing a room with him.

            For one, the responsibilities are different. There are bills and there’s food to buy. There’s washing to do and rooms to actually clean. They have to wash their own dishes.

            They also have to learn how to be around each other again.

            It’s been two years. Two years of Ian hating Mickey for leaving and still being so desperately in love with him. It had always felt like there was a piece of him missing. Now that piece has been slammed back into place so suddenly Ian’s half sure he’s got whiplash and he’s definitely still aching.

            He knows it’ll take time.

            And to his credit, Mickey seems to understand that. He’s never been stupid, far from it in fact. Mickey knows exactly where he went wrong and what he did. He knows he fucked up. The problem lies in Mickey being too much of a stubborn twat to own up.

            Instead he drops these little hints at apologies.

            He buys Ian’s favourite foods, lets them watch movies Ian loves but Mickey hates. He says things like, “It’s kinda cool having someone else here,” and “Almost missed hanging out with you, Gallagher.” Like they’re just friends that haven’t seen each other in a long time.

            Of course, Ian knows Mickey means, “I’ve been lonely without you.” “I missed you.” “I shouldn’t have left.”

            He doesn’t say it though, that’s the problem. After two years, Ian’s fed up of reading between the lines. He just wants to hear the words out loud. For once.

            It’s been six days of living with Mickey. Six days is enough for it to sink in and it does so suddenly. Ian wakes up when Mickey shifts around on the other side of the bed, their arms brushing. He opens his eyes and he stares at the orange-painted wall of their bedroom and he thinks, _shit_. This was their bedroom now. Not just some shitty little hovel of a dorm room that they’d had in the Halfway House. Not just two beds two feet apart.

            They had a bedroom now. A shared bedroom. With a shared apartment just the other side of the ajar door.

            _Shit_ , he thinks. Because he doesn’t know how he really feels about it.

            It’s almost like he’s just waiting for someone to come and snatch this all away. He’s waiting for Mickey to laugh and to say, “You really thought I wanted you forever, Gallagher. Wise the fuck up.” And then where would Ian be.

            He didn’t know.

            He couldn’t go back to Fiona and his siblings. Home wasn’t there anymore and it hadn’t been for a long time.

            Home was… where? Where was home anymore?

            He’d used to think it was Mickey. He’d convinced himself it was Mickey and that was why he’d piled all of his trust into the one place. He’d put his soul in the palms of Mickey’s grubby, tattooed hands and he’d trusted him not the crush it.

            And in his defence, Mickey hadn’t done. No, he’d just cast it aside. He’d just dropped it. Made Ian think it hadn’t even mattered to him at all.

            It had to have done, he can see the reasoning in that. Otherwise there’d be no apartment and there’d be no Mickey now. Ian would be alone somewhere, wondering _what comes next_ with a boyfriend he didn’t like and a family that didn’t know him.

            “I can hear you thinking,” Mickey mutters, voice thick with sleep.

            He shifts around on the other side of the bed and when Ian turns over, he finds Mickey facing him. Their faces are only inches apart. Mickey’s blink at the sudden closeness, eyes still sleepy but brightening up as Ian watches.

            It’s a beautiful sight. Watching the life slowly start to creep back into Mickey’s face as he wakes. It’s a sight he could look at for the rest of time if someone let him. And that thought alone terrifies him. The fact that he’s only eighteen and already thinking in terms of forever.

            He’s not supposed to be doing that, is he? That’s not realistic.

            But then, what is forever? He could die tomorrow of a bullet between the eyes. He could die the day after getting hit by a car. Or he could die fifty years from now, with a catheter in his dick and two hearing aids. Each option would still be his forever, it would be his allotted time.

            Ian’s always considered himself to live in the moment. He’s always thought it was better that way, learnt as much from Mickey at ten years old. There was no point planning too far ahead as the possibilities were endless. You didn’t know what was going to happen, you couldn’t, so where was the sense in worrying about it all.

            No matter how long his forever was though, Ian knew he’d be more than content to spend it with Mickey. He couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be. He just wondered if the other boy could say the same.

            “Gallagher,” Mickey says softly, finger lifting to tap a short beat against Ian’s sternum.

            Ian can feel his cock twitch in his boxers, can already feel Mickey’s morning wood nudging his hip slightly. It’d be so simple, it’d be like two years ago again to just reach down and take them both in hand. It’d be fun and easy, but it would leave a bitter taste in Ian’s mouth.

            Because his mind still associated sex with leaving and he couldn’t go through that again.

            “You left,” Ian says.

            Mickey still hasn’t apologised with words, but it’s the first time that Ian’s prompted him to. It’s the first time either of them have addressed the elephant in the room, the reason everything is stilted and Ian’s upset.

            The reason they’re not having sex and haven’t done anything more than kiss in _six days_.

            Mickey breathes out heavily, morning breath hitting Ian directly in the face. He doesn’t mind.

            “I know,” he says. He keeps his finger resting against Ian’s sternum. The only point of contact between them now the conversation has wilted Mickey’s boner. “I–” He sighs, like he knew they would be having this talk, but he still didn’t want to now it was happening.

            “Fuck,” he says. “You just terrify me, Gallagher.”

            “So your answer was to leave.” It’s not a question.

            Mickey shakes his head, hair rustling against the pillow, standing even more on end. It would be cute if it was any other situation. (It still is cute.)

            “No, I just… you deserve better than what I could give you. What prospects do I have, Gallagher? I mean, really! I can’t give you a fancy life. I can’t hold your hand as we walk down the street. I won’t marry you. I won’t be everything you want me to be. So yeah, I left. I left to make this.

            “I left to make this apartment, to work for what I _could_ give you. It was stupid, yeah. But I thought, two years was enough. Two years was enough to give you a chance to move on, to find someone who was worth everything and then… if you saw what I had to offer, the _only thing_ I have to offer and still…then we’d know, wouldn’t we.”

            His beautiful, stupid Mickey.

            That’s the most Ian thinks he’s ever heard him say.

            In two years Ian had convinced himself that it was because he just wasn’t good enough. He thought Mickey had finally wised up to the fact that Ian would always be nothing more than that stupid kid who’d had a crush on him. The only option. They’d been stuck together for six years, so what else was Mickey supposed to do?

            Ian had thought Mickey had realised, now he was free, he could finally be free of Ian to.

            He’d got a lot of things wrong it seemed. They both had.

            “Who says I’d want to marry you?” Ian says.

            Mickey chokes out a broken laugh. “Fuck you.” And Ian regrets that that was the thing he chose to say first. Mickey looks on the verge of tears and Mickey’s never supposed to look like that. Out of the two of them, Ian’s the crier. Mickey’s the strong one, the rock in every hard place that Ian could never run from. He’s the constant.

            And with just a handful of words Ian has reduced his rock to dust.

            Mickey moves to get out of the bed, startling when Ian grabs a hold of his arm. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “I didn’t – Mick, just come back. Lie down.” And he does, Mickey goes willingly, pliant as he shifts where Ian pushes him.

            Ian curls them back up on their sides, closer than before, legs slotted together.

            “You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” he says, whispers it like a secret. And it is, it’s their secret. Their love is the biggest secret they will ever have. It’s also the most worthwhile. “Mickey, I love you. You, like you are. I love this apartment and I love all the days we’re going to have in it. It’ll always be you for me, Mick. _Fuck_. I thought you knew that.”

            Mickey smiles, a watery, bashful thing that Ian wants to lean forwards and taste.

            “You don’t have to be so fuckin’ gay about it, Jesus.”

            Ian laughs. No, he fucking giggles. The sound forces its way up out of his throat until he’s shaking with it. Cackling like a madman, because… _fuck_. It’s him and Mickey. It’s him and Mickey in their bedroom in their apartment in their life that they’re going to have together.

            “You’re stuck with me now,” he says when he can finally get his words out.

            Mickey’s watching him with an expression that says he thinks Ian’s finally lost the plot. Like either of them ever had it in the first place. It makes Ian laugh again.

            “Good,” Mickey says, like he didn’t mean to let that slip out.

            And Ian kisses him. He kisses him gentle and soft, pressing forwards to slide his tongue over Mickey’s and draw Mickey’s moans right into his own mouth. He slides a hand up into Mickey’s hair and scratches blunt fingernails against Mickey’s scalp. He pulls them closer and closer, _closer_ until there’s hardly even air between them.

            He mouths _I love you_ against the curve of Mickey’s neck. He kisses his throat, his sternum, licks a path down to Mickey’s bellybutton before Mickey squirms and hauls him back up.

            There’s lube just under the bed on Mickey’s side, because of course there is. He moans and his body thrashes like he’s trapped when Ian slips a finger into him. He doesn’t know where to push back or thrust forwards against where his cock is trapped against Ian’s.

            Ian laughs, low right into Mickey’s mouth and pins him there with his body. It’s awkward, trying to press Mickey down and kiss him at the same time as his fingers work away beneath them. It hurts his wrist, but he doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to lose a second of this moment, of this experience.

            So he makes do.

            He fingers Mickey until he’s almost sobbing. Mickey’s unresponsive, hardly even able to kiss back. He’s mouths slack, lips red and inviting and Ian fucks his tongue down into Mickey’s mouth, bites at his top lip and then the bottom. He slides his lips over Mickey’s jaw, fists a hand in his hair and turns his head back, bites down on his Adam’s apple.

            Mickey goes mad with it. He scratches lines of fire down Ian’s spine, snarls a _please_ into the side of Ian’s throat when he rubs his fingers of Mickey’s prostate for a long, torturous two seconds.

            “I’ve dreamed about this,” Ian admits as he slicks his cock up.

            Mickey nods, blind. His eyes are open, but glazed. The black almost completely swallowing the blue.

            He’s so beautiful.

            He probably doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to. Ian wonders if he knows he’s muttering, “ _Come on, come on,_ ” between hitching breaths. Probably not.

            Ian is in love with every second of this scene. He’s in love with Mickey and with Mickey’s body and he can’t wait to learn all the ways he can make Mickey come undone again.

            He used to know Mickey’s body better than his own, but the one beneath him is different. It’s older in the two years. Still perfect, still hot and tight and making him hard enough to hurt, but different. He wants to learn all the differences and they will. He has time, they have time.

            Just not now. Now he just needs to be inside him.

            He presses forward slowly, so slowly that Mickey can feel every millimetre and they both feel like they’re burning from the inside out. Ian knows he should probably lift up, pull away from Mickey and get some leverage, but he doesn’t want to.

            He wants Mickey like this, pinned beneath him and squirming. He wants to feel Mickey’s heart thundering against his own. He wants every second of it just like this. Mickey’s legs hitched up around his waist and gorgeous mouth rubbing wet and hot against that spot behind Ian’s ear as he pants.

            Sliding into Mickey’s body is not a feeling that Ian knows how to describe.

            It’s like slipping into a hot bath on a freezing day. That first moment of scalding water lapping around you, of almost pain before the bliss.

            It’s like that moment where you’re caught between awake and asleep. Not quite ready to leave your dreams, but aware of your body again. Hyperaware and yet still sluggish. Real and not real.

            It’s like trying to catch that one, much needed breath after a sprint. You can’t and you almost don’t want to because it hurts, _fuck_ it hurts. But you feel so good, you feel like you’re flying and like you’re invincible. You feel…

            “ _Move,_ ” Mickey hums into his ear.

            Ian stops thinking and does.

            He rolls his body forwards against Mickey’s. It’s barely even thrusting. It’s just a slow rock of his hips against the firm swell of Mickey’s arse.

            Mickey doesn’t seem to mind. Not at all.

            His breath is hiccupping out of his chest, a beautiful ragged sound that’s like music to Ian’s ears.

            He’s found his home again, Ian realises when he lifts his head just enough to press his mouth against Mickey’s again. It’s a messy, barely functioning kiss. It’s his tongue lapping against the backs of Mickey’s teeth and Mickey panting into his mouth each time that the fat heat of Ian’s cock slides against that point inside of him.

            They’re burning, Ian knows they are, but at least they’re on fire together.

            He wouldn’t mind dying if this is the last feeling he gets to know.

            It ends after a lifetime and it’s still too quickly. That feeling building at the base of Ian’s spine becomes too much for him to ignore. He lifts his head, breathes out, “Come for me, Mickey,” and when Mickey bites down on that spot at the base of his throat and _does_ , Ian quickly follows him off that cliff.

            It’s like a freefall, but not one that comes to a sudden crashing end. It’s a drawn out feeling of bliss.

            He comes back to his body in stages it seems. Left foot first, toes tingling.

            His body has gone slack against Mickey’s and he thinks he should probably move, he should probably shift to let Mickey breathe. He doesn’t want to.

            “ _I love you_ ,” he mouths against Mickey’s bare shoulder.

            He feels sticky and content. He can feel himself slipping back into a sleep that he both wants to fight and doesn’t. He wants to be awake to see Mickey’s face, to watch him in this afterglow moments. But he can also feel it dragging him under.

            Mickey turns his head on the pillow, mouth curving into a smile when their eyes meet. Ian is still on top of him and he’ll wake up in exactly the same place, cock gone soft inside Mickey’s body, Mickey’s hand splayed possessively over those dimples at the bottom of his back. He’ll wake up and roll his hips forwards again, body already ready to go another round for Mickey.

            They will and it’ll be faster, a little rougher, but still as amazing as before.

            And it would be completely worth waiting six days. Waiting two years. Waiting forever for this feeling. He wouldn’t do it again, but it would still be worth it.

            When Ian wakes up, it would be all of that and it would all be as indescribable as the feeling building in his chest at the sight of Mickey now. None of it though, not a single moment in all the future that they would have together would ever quite match the one that he lives in then.

            None of it would match Mickey’s soft and sleepy expression as he rests his face close to Ian’s on the pillow. None of it would match the gentle kiss Mickey presses against Ian’s swollen lips, the way he knits their fingers together, thumb rubbing over Ian’s knuckles.

            None of it would match the feeling of Mickey’s mouth shaping those three words for the first time. Spoken quietly, just another secret for this room to witness and keep between them. Three words, quiet and perfect and with a blush rapidly rising high on Mickey’s cheeks.

            It’s enough to have Ian wanting to say fuck it to the rest of his life, just so long as he could relive that one handful of seconds over and over again for the rest of time.

            _I love you_.

            _I love you._

Ian smiles and rubs his nose gently against Mickey’s.

            _I love you_.

            He watches Mickey’s eyes slip shut, eyelashes fanning out dark across his pale cheeks. He watches Mickey’s breathing slowly start to even out. He feels the way Mickey’s grip on his hand slackens at the same time as his legs tense to hold Ian closer. He watches the way Mickey smiles, just a little bit in his sleep when Ian whispers a kiss across his temple.

            Ian watches until he can’t anymore, until there’s nothing he can do but close his eyes and fall asleep.

            He just watches and he thinks, _yes, I love you_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr as themintsauce!! (I don't know how to link! Sorry!)


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